


tying me to you

by leaveanote



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Communication, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Gags, Gentle Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Bondage, M/M, Married Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Romance, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Spanking, Spreader Bars, Trust and love, all very consensual, it is all incredibly soft honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote
Summary: Jaskier asks his husband to tie him up and take him, hard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 326





	tying me to you

**Author's Note:**

> this is, um. utter filth. i suppose i’ve written so much soft holiday stuff recently i just needed to give them...this. 
> 
> it is still very soft though, i think!

Geralt turns the page in the bestiary on his lap. The room is warm, the inn cozy on a late spring evening, and the chair by the fireplace proves quite comfortable. He’s doffed his shirt, a thin sheen of sweat gathering upon his muscles in the firelight, and he runs his fingers over his chest idly as he peruses the book.

A low, needful whine comes from the bed.

Geralt studies the page, letting his hand move over his stomach now.

Another. This one more insistent, drawn out. Accompanied by stifled scuffling, the rustle of skin on sheets.

“Behave.” Geralt says it quietly, unhurried, but there’s weight behind it. The scuffling stops, the whine silences. Geralt scents the air, listens to the heaving breath, the racing heartbeat. There’s nothing but excitement there, frustration but it’s the right sort. 

Geralt turns several more pages, his fingers traversing his own torso as he does, until he senses that need reach a fever pitch. He marks his page, and strides leisurely to the bed.

Jaskier’s stopped straining against his bindings, but his breath quickens beautifully as Geralt draws close. He’s right where Geralt put him. Propped against the pillowed headboard, wrists bound above his head in black silk, a soft cloth gagging his pretty mouth. A smooth plug sits snugly inside him, well-oiled and thick, though nowhere near the size of Geralt himself. Just enough to open. To tease. All a very familiar, welcome sight, but Geralt is most interested in the latest addition to their collection. A black spreader bar, clasping each of Jaskier’s ankles in a cushioned manacle, baring the entirety of his arousal to Geralt’s piercing gaze. 

“Hmm.” Geralt walks around the bed, taking in the sight. “You did  _ fairly  _ well,” he says. He lets his fingertips skim, featherlight, across Jaskier’s nipples, his thighs. “I told you to wait quietly. You were patient,” he concedes. “To an extent.” He pauses at the foot of the bed, and Jaskier gives a muffled groan, knowing Geralt’s staring directly at his spread hole, his needy, obvious erection dripping precome steadily onto his stomach. He shifts as if to close his thighs, but he can only tilt his knees together, the bar doing its job. Geralt gives a small, crooked smirk. “But you  _ whined  _ for me, didn’t you? Before I was ready to take care of you.”

Jaskier meets his gaze, and Geralt’s heart leaps. The  _ heat,  _ there. The trust. 

“Am I ready now, that’s the question.” He presses his thumb into the base of the plug, nudging the toy deeper inside. Jaskier’s eyes roll back, his brows knitting desperately, the scent of a fresh pulse of precome filling the room, but he doesn’t make a sound. “Good boy,” Geralt says softly. He runs his knuckle over Jaskier’s length. Teases the sopping slit, as his other hand comes to fondle Jaskier’s balls.

Jaskier’s breathing goes shallow as he bites back an obvious moan. The muscles of his thighs flex, and tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

He smells like nothing but the purest, rawest want.

He  _ loves _ this. Bound and helpless, utterly at his husband’s mercy, knowing that his pleasure is out of his hands, that Geralt  _ will  _ deliver it—but only once he’s heightened it into the sweetest torment. They have a word, and Geralt would recognize it even through the gag, but Jaskier trusts Geralt to sense if anything’s wrong, if he needs a break or a pause or an adjustment. 

It had actually started several years ago, when Geralt asked to be bound himself. He is quite fond of being held down and ravished, and Jaskier is  _ very  _ good at it. Now Geralt returns the gesture, and it turns out they both enjoy tending to each other very much. 

It means rather a lot to Geralt, that Jaskier trusts him like this. He knows that Jaskier had wanted him for a very, very long time. Jaskier had waited, with only the faintest hope.

Now, Geralt wants to give his husband fucking  _ everything _ .

“Mm!” Jaskier moans at last, a short, bitten-off sound around his gag as Geralt gives the toy a particularly deep push inside him. His eyes fly open, desperate. 

Geralt arches a brow and stops touching him entirely. 

Jaskier makes a frustrated noise, tries to rub his thighs together for the merest bit of friction, but the bar prohibits it. Geralt seizes it, and holds it steady. Jaskier looks at him, eyes blazing, chest heaving. The gag is soaked. 

“You were close.” It’s not a question, but Jaskier nods anyway. Geralt leans in, takes a clean cloth from the bedside table, wipes away the tears gathering at his eyes, the spit from his mouth. “You know you’re not going to come without my cock in you.” Jaskier breathes heavily through his nose, and gives another nod. “Good boy,” Geralt murmurs again, and Jaskier’s hands flex in their bindings. “Just a little longer.” 

Geralt can’t help himself. He wraps his palm around Jaskier’s cock, not stroking, just holding him, a promise as much as it is a tease. Jaskier’s eyes go wide, and then flutter shut. He manages to hold his hips steady, but only just. Geralt nuzzles into his sweaty hair, pressing a kiss to his husband’s cheek, breathing him in.

“You good?”

_ “Mmmmhm.”  _ Jaskier hums, nodding emphatically. He grins, as best as he can through the gag, and nuzzles Geralt right back.

“Good, love. Need a break at all? Anything adjusted? Water?”

Jasker shakes his head, once to each side. His heels scrabble against the sheets, instead, erection throbbing in Geralt’s palm.

He doesn’t need to come, not yet. Geralt can read it in the languorous flex of his muscles, the comfortable lust strumming through him. He  _ does  _ want to be pleasured, but he’s not ready for this to be over. He wants more, and Geralt wants to give it to him.

Geralt chuckles, low in his throat, and Jaskier’s breath hitches. Geralt releases his cock, but before Jaskier can protest, he settles between his legs and pushes the bar to Jaskier’s chest, spreading him open, shifting the angle of the toy inside him. “You can make noise for me now. Go on.” 

Jaskier lets out a rich, wanton moan of relief, writhing whorishly against his bindings. 

“That’s it, just relax. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

Geralt gazes at Jaskier’s hole, clenching around the plug. He traces the spread entrance with his fingertip, and Jaskier moans again, high and musical. Arousal pools through Geralt’s body, but he lets it stay in the background, keeping his focus on Jaskier. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. He pushes the bar back further, palming one cheek of Jaskier’s exposed ass. He delivers a series of spanks, just light ones, nearly taps, two on each side, and Jaskier whines, tightening beautifully around the toy. Then another, a little harder, right against the plug’s base, in the center of Jaskier’s crease. Jaskier’s back arches off the bed, and the scent of a fresh rush of precome soaks Geralt’s senses. “I’m going to set you on your knees now, is that all right?”

Jaskier groans, nodding weakly. Geralt’s nearly dizzy with love, he takes several breaths to keep his wits about him. It’s a lot, this level of trust. He’s made sure to earn it over the years, but even so, he’s so, so grateful for it. 

He carefully lifts Jaskier and flips him onto his knees. He settles Jaskier on his chest, hands bound and clasped above him, the bar keeping him obscenely splayed. Geralt tucks a pillow under Jaskier’s chin and he moans into it, adjusting to the new position, the weight of the plug shifting inside him. His ass, pinkened from Geralt’s palm, clamps down on the toy.

Geralt brings his mouth to that spread, clenching hole and licks him hard, with the flat of his tongue.

Jaskier  _ wails _ through the gag, bucking back against Geralt’s mouth. Geralt spanks him again, then grasps his hip with one hand, holding the bar steady with the other, and licks around the toy again. He circles Jaskier’s spread rim with the tip of his tongue, dipping beneath to lap at his perineum, his balls, and Jaskier’s just spilling precome helplessly against the sheet now. His hips cant weakly, but between the bar and Geralt’s firm hand he’s held with his ass in the air, unable to get any friction against his cock.

“This toy has had enough of you,” Geralt murmurs. He tugs at the plug, its flared base teasing Jaskier’s rim. Works it in and out a bit, fucking Jaskier slow, too slow with it, and Jaskier groans feverishly. His fingers dig into the pillow. “It’s my turn.” He eases the toy out with a lewd pop, leaving Jaskier’s empty hole clenching, shiny with spit and oil. 

Jaskier goes quiet, trembling in anticipation. Geralt’s senses pick up nothing but sheer, fierce desire.

“Look at you,” he says softly. He caresses his palms over the curves of Jaskier’s sweaty back, soothing, massaging his tense muscles. He brings two fingers to Jaskier’s stretched, ready hole, hums approvingly as Jaskier’s body pulls them in. “You’re spectacular, Jask.” Geralt settles on the bed between his spread thighs, maneuvering his own legs under the bar. He takes a deep inhale at Jaskier’s core, his want and his sweat and the familiar, inviting essence of him. “You’re perfect,” Geralt tells him, and presses his tongue inside. 

Jaskier cries out through the gag, grinding his hips back as far as he can, and Geralt lets him. He firms his thick tongue and lets Jaskier fuck himself on it, curling it, mouthing messily at his rim. Geralt fucking  _ loves  _ pleasuring his husband this way, the filthy intimacy, how it overwhelms his senses, how much Jaskier loves it. 

Jaskier often likes, in fact, to come from just this and rutting against the bed, and though that was  _ not  _ on the agenda for the evening, as Geralt spreads Jaskier’s cheeks and works his tongue deeper, he senses the first hint of real, uncomfortable frustration of the evening.

Geralt stops at once, pulling back and rushing to get the gag off.

_ “Fuck.”  _ Jaskier’s voice is hoarse, his lips dry. Geralt grabs the waterskin from the bedside table and takes Jaskier in his arms, sitting him up enough to drink safely. He does, then grins faintly at Geralt through heavy eyes. 

“What d’you need?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier shakes his head as best as he can.

“Fuck, darling. I have to come. I’m  _ going  _ to come. I know you said I wasn’t to without you inside me, but I think I want to. I want to come with your mouth on me just like it was, and your hand on my cock, if you’ll let me.” 

“Of course,” Geralt growls at once, ready to get back to it, but Jaskier looks at him intently, with those skystuff eyes, full of trust and desire.

“But,” he continues, “I don’t think I’ll be done after that.” He squirms. “I think I’ll want you to fuck me. I think I’ll come again.” Jaskier bites his lip, glancing at his dripping erection. “Just need to take the edge off, a bit. That all right?”

“Fuck.” Geralt kisses him. “I love you.”

Jaskier smiles, and Geralt can feel him sinking back into a comfortable, blissed-out headspace.

“I love you too, darling.”

“The bindings are okay? Anything need adjusting?”

“All good.” Jaskier gazes at him through those lovely lashes. “Put the gag back.”

Geralt huffs a heavy breath through his nose, and complies. Jaskier parts his soft, damp lips, and Geralt carefully secures the cloth back in place. Jaskier grins around it. Gives a low moan, a squirm, and Geralt kisses him on the brow before tilting him back onto his knees. He laps at Jaskier’s hole again, and reaches around his hips to stroke Jaskier’s cock.

“That’s it,” he says, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. “Take it. Let’s see you come, sweetheart.”

He picks his pace up, fucking his tongue into Jaskier, getting his palm slick in the mess of precome and jerking him harder. Jaskier whines, pinned by the bar and Geralt’s body, unable to do anything but lay there with his ass in the air while Geralt pleasures him. He trembles all over and then goes silent, and Geralt knows he’s close. He forces his tongue in deeper, curling it, and Jaskier screams around the gag. He jerks his hips as best as he can, fucking himself into Geralt’s fist and back against his tongue, and then he’s coming. The sharp spike of his pleasure floods Geralt’s senses, utterly intoxicating, its own sort of magic. Jaskier clenches in decadent waves, spilling helplessly onto the bed.

Geralt works him through it until at last Jaskier’s movements slow, until he collapses into the mattress. Geralt turns him onto his back, and gives a low groan. 

Jaskier’s the picture of debauchery. His hair a mess, the gag damp between his shiny lips, his entire body flushed pink. He’s slick with spend and sweat, oil and Geralt’s spit between his legs.

“You did so well,” Geralt murmurs, tucking the hair back from his eyes. “Was that good?”

Jaskier nods, weakly, deep in the wake of his pleasure. Geralt doesn’t want to disturb him, to get it wrong, but Jaskier smells like relief and want all at once.

“Can I take off the gag, just enough to tell me what you want next?”

Jaskier nods again. Geralt gently tugs the cloth down, brushes their lips together. Jaskier curls into Geralt’s chest as best as he can with his wrists and ankles bound, and Geralt gathers him up, rubbing his sides, petting his hair. He doesn’t rush him, just waits patiently for Jaskier to tell him what he needs. Stays a soft, strong presence in the meantime.

Jaskier licks his lips, presently, stretching out his back. It’s  _ very  _ cute. 

“Fuck my mouth,” he says, his voice hoarse and firm. 

_ Fuck. _

Geralt knows Jaskier well enough to know he doesn’t have to ask again.

“Okay,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. He rises off the bed, stripping off the rest of his clothes at last. 

“Rough,” Jaskier tells him, eyes gleaming as he stares at Geralt’s erection. “Hold my hands down. You know how I like it.”

“I do.”

“That’ll get me hard again.” Jaskier swallows, licking his lips. “Then fuck my ass. Like this, on my back.” He tilts his head. “I want to look at you. Use the bar, push my legs back. I want it deep.”

“Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt hisses. He tugs Jaskier down the bed along with a pillow, making enough room for his arms to stretch out above his head. He straddles his husband’s chest, giving his own hard cock a few strokes. Jaskier moans as Geralt smears precome onto his lips. His hands flex in their bindings, and he gives a shudder of arousal. 

“Gods, look at you,” he groans, taking in the muscled expanse of Geralt’s body. “I’m nearly ready again already.” Geralt glances behind him to see that it’s true, Jaskier’s slowly hardening again, his toes curling.

Geralt looks down at him, so impossibly full of love and desire. He cups Jaskier’s cheek. Rubs his thumb along that plush lower lip, lets it slip inside to rest on Jaskier’s tongue, just for a moment, and pulls away. He strokes his own cock again, feels Jaskier tense beneath him, mouth open, needy.

“Beg for it.”

Jaskier  _ whines,  _ his pupils fattening before his eyes flutter shut.

“Please, Geralt, I need you, want to taste you,  _ please—” _

Geralt sinks his cock down Jaskier’s throat. He allows himself one moment to bask in that fierce, delicious pleasure, before tuning his senses again to Jaskier. He’s overwhelmed, Geralt’s cock filling his mouth, his own arousal gathering again a moment too soon, and he’s helpless like this, bound and pinned beneath Geralt’s body.

He loves it.

He  _ loves  _ it. He’d ached for this, Geralt knows—Jaskier’s told him, a thousand times. To be  _ taken. _

For Geralt to want him like this. 

And Geralt does, very fucking much, want him like this.

“Look how handsome you are. That sweet mouth, stretched around my cock.” Geralt leans over him, settling his knees on either side of Jaskier’s head. “You have a very pretty voice, Jaskier,” he says, just a hint of tease to it, “but some of my most favorite sounds you make are when I’m fucking down your throat.” He shifts his weight and Jaskier moans around him, and  _ fuck,  _ that’s good. 

He braces one hand on the headboard, and the other he wraps carefully around Jaskier’s bound wrists. He smells Jaskier’s heightened arousal now, dripping precome, he doesn’t even need to turn to know he’s fully hard again already. 

Geralt begins to move. He starts off slow, so Jaskier can feel every inch of his girth as it slides between his lips. But he knows what Jaskier really wants, can feel that ache of need thrumming through Jaskier’s body, and it’s not long before he leans on Jaskier’s wrists and holds him down and starts to fuck his mouth in earnest.

“You know how much I love this, little lark,” he growls. “You know how long—fuck, Jask, you know how long I waited?” Jaskier moans, breathless, his nostrils flared, his eyes shut in bliss as he just  _ takes  _ it. Geralt can feel his racing pulse beneath his palm, exactly how Jaskier likes it. “You walked the Continent, singing songs about  _ me,  _ romancing anyone you pleased who’d have you, when we both know all you wanted was my cock in you.” He thrusts his hips faster. Spit and precome spill down Jaskier’s chin, and Geralt can feel him writhe, trying in vain to get any friction on his cock. “You opened this cute mouth and sang about me to the world. You were  _ wanting.  _ And I just want to  _ give it to you.” _

Jaskier groans around him, differently this time. It’s not his safeword, but Geralt senses the edge to it, and pulls out so he can speak.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier gasps immediately. “Fuck, Geralt, I need you in my ass right  _ fucking  _ now.” 

Geralt grunts, making his way down Jaskier’s body.

“The gag?”

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says, his voice raw from Geralt’s cock. “Just fuck me, please,  _ please,  _ no—”

Geralt freezes, his hand on the oil.

“No more fingers,” Jaskier manages. “I’m ready, I’m  _ good,  _ Geralt, please just give it to me.”

“Fucking gods,” Geralt growls. He’d insist on this point, normally, but Jaskier’s still slippery and open from the plug and Geralt’s tongue, and Geralt’s own cock is dripping from Jaskier’s mouth. He trusts Jaskier to tell him if he changes his mind. He seizes the bar and shoves it to Jaskier’s chest, forcing his thighs back and baring his hole. 

Jaskier lets out a long, whorish moan as Geralt pushes inside. It seems even louder, more wanton in the sudden absence of the gag, and fuck, Geralt had  _ missed  _ his voice. 

“Oh  _ yes,”  _ Jaskier groans, his hands clutching helplessly within their bindings, “yes,  _ please, hard—” _

Geralt leans over him, pushing the bar down, bending Jaskier nearly in half. He drives in as deep as he goes until he’s close enough to bury his teeth carefully in Jaskier’s shoulder, and he does. Jaskier’s a  _ wreck,  _ his body tight and perfect around Geralt’s cock, fucked-out and desperate and overstimulated in the very best way. Geralt pulls out nearly all the way, then snaps back in, and Jaskier cries out. 

Geralt fucks his ass in long, rough thrusts. He puts his muscle into it. Holds Jaskier down and gives it to him, hard and punishing. Jaskier spent so long wanting Geralt, his heart, his love, yes, but also his body, and Geralt gives him everything, now. 

No matter what it would be good, because it’s them. They take each other apart a thousand different ways, fitting together perfectly. But Jaskier does love that Geralt can take him like this, can move at a brutal pace without sacrificing a bit of the power behind it.

And Geralt can’t help but love knowing that no one else has ever fucked Jaskier exactly like he can.

“Geralt!” Jaskier wails. Geralt fucks him deep, his body jerking on every thrust. He smells of sweet sweat and spend and swiftly peaking arousal, and so much love Geralt could gladly drown in it. “Oh, oh,  _ oh,  _ it’s  _ so  _ good, oh, darling, you’re so  _ big,  _ you feel so good inside me, fucking me  _ open, fuck,  _ I love it, I love it, I love  _ you, ahh—!” _ He sinks into the bed, letting Geralt use him, ravish him, drive him purposely toward climax. 

“I love you.” Geralt noses Jaskier’s sweaty hair, grazing his teeth along Jaskier’s throat. “I missed your voice, little lark. Gonna say my name when I make you come again?”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier chants, “yes,  _ please,  _ I’m so close, make me come on your cock, fuck, you feel so  _ fucking  _ good _ —” _

_ “You _ feel good,” Geralt growls. He reaches between them, one hand steady on the bar, and wraps his other around Jaskier’s cock. He jerks him off hard in time with his thrusts, fucking him relentlessly. 

Jaskier goes stiff, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands are clasped together above his head, his knuckles white. 

“You,” Geralt murmurs, “are  _ mine.”  _

Jaskier comes with a fucking  _ sob_. He cries out Geralt’s name like it’s being punched out of him, over and over. His ass clenches like a vise around Geralt, his entire body contorting in ecstasy, his head twisting to the side as Geralt fucks him roughly through it. He trains all his focus on Jaskier, making sure, as he has been every step of the way, to give him exactly what he needs to make it the strongest, most powerful orgasm possible. Grinding his cock hard against the spot Jaskier needs every time, gripping him just right. Jaskier spills between them, all over his stomach and Geralt’s hand. With more force than expected, given that it’s his second in quite a short span, and it keeps fucking _ going  _ as he shakes apart. 

“Fill me up,” Jaskier says in a broken whisper, and that’s all it takes. Geralt groans and buries himself and comes, lets himself feel the sweet pleasure coursing through him. Jaskier lets out a long, obscene moan as Geralt fills him so deep, the aftershocks of his own orgasm still rippling though him, making him twitch and tighten on Geralt’s cock as he comes.

“Fuck,” Geralt says at last. Jaskier laughs, a breathy, raucous thing, and Geralt grins against the sweaty column of his throat. He can smell Jaskier’s thorough satisfaction mingling with the musk of their release. He eases himself out, but stays pressed close. “Tell me what you need. One step at a time, love.”

“Mm,” Jaskier murmurs, nuzzling Geralt’s cheek. He’s half-asleep already, which isn’t surprising. “Kiss me.”

Geralt does, slow and blurry. Jaskier can’t stop smiling. Giggling, really, even as he catches his breath.

“Untie me.” 

Geralt goes for the spreader bar first, opening each cuff with a click. He places it on the floor as Jaskier brings his legs together at last, stretching them with a low groan. Geralt gets his wrists undone next, and Jaskier flexes his hands. Geralt gathers him into his arms and gets some water in him, some dried fruit from the bedside table. Jaskier drinks and eats sleepily, his heart rate returning to normal. 

He ends up dozing, just for a bit, there in Geralt’s arms. Geralt lets him, breathes him in and wonders at how very grateful he is. When Jaskier wakes a little while later, he tells him.

Jaskier smiles, his energy beginning to return. 

“Right back at you, love,” he yawns. “Fuck, Geralt, that was  _ excellent.” _

“Good,” Geralt says gruffly, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Geralt goes to say yes automatically, because it seems so obvious, but Jaskier looks at him, searching, and knows that Jaskier wants him to be sure. So he thinks about it, because that’s what Jaskier’s asking of him, and he’ll do as he’s asked. The truth is, he very fucking did. He might always have a slight preference for being the one tended to, which Jaskier knows, but he loves making Jaskier feel good. And he loves feeling  _ wanted.  _ Needed. Desired. No one’s ever made him feel like that, not for everything he is, not how Jaskier does.

“Yes” he says, honestly, at last, and Jaskier smiles because he knows he means it. “It means a lot, you know. The trust.” Geralt swallows. “All the strength, the focus that was given to me. It was built to destroy.” He squeezes Jaskier in a gentle hug. “And now I get to use it to bring pleasure to the person I care most about in the world.”

_ “I’ll  _ say!” Jaskier laughs. His expression softens. “I’m so glad, darling. You are very good to me.”

“Well, you deserve the best, so.”

Jaskier beams at him.

“Very glad you’ve realized.”

“Me too.”

They lie there in a comfortable tangle of lazy kisses and easy touch, re-centering. Geralt brings his mouth tenderly to Jaskier’s wrists, massaging the muscles made sore from his bindings.

“Can I interest you in a bath? I’ve got one ready, I’ll just get it hot again,” he asks presently, “but if you’d rather just sleep, of course—”

“A bath sounds lovely,” Jaskier smiles. “You’ll join me, won’t you?”

Geralt snorts.

“Since when have I ever turned down a bath? Especially with  _ you _ in it.”

Geralt heats the bath and carries Jaskier to it. He lets him soak and spread out as he changes the sheets for fresh ones, balls up the used batch with a mental note to leave a considerable amount of extra coin for the innkeeper. And then he joins his husband in the tub, kisses him unhurried there in the steam. He cleans him up, and washes him carefully, massaging his scalp, rubbing salve into the places where the bindings worried the skin. Jaskier sinks into him, lax and deeply content. 

“I’ve got you, love,” Geralt murmurs. 

“I know,” Jaskier says, soft as a sigh, and Geralt trusts he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> <3 i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ [welcomemysentence](https://welcomemysentence.tumblr.com/)


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